


Mud

by bellaliemy



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Death, Florida, M/M, Wildlife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaliemy/pseuds/bellaliemy
Summary: Dominic only wanted control.





	Mud

Green, tall grass swayed in the wind, the water gently lapping at the roots. Bubbles rose to the top of the peaceful flowing water, turtles lay underneath. There was an egret on the side of the marsh, carefully wading through the water, until it suddenly stabbed with precision for its next meal. Fiddler crabs scuttled in the mud, the smelly, dark pluff mud. They all seemed to be oblivious of the path of cigarette buds that lead to the dock. Dried mud caked around the wooden poles, the shadow of the structure lending a hiding place to resting birds.

Now, however, a crowd of dark crows contrasted with the usual pristine white sea birds who wandered beneath from time to time. Loud, vulgar screeches filled the air with uneasiness akin to a warzone. The crows were fighting within themselves, each one shoving the other for a go at whatever poor thing lay in the middle.

On the dock, the faint, scrubbed spattering of blood almost blended into the old wood. The stench of marsh overwhelmed the smell of Dominic’s vomit. Sickly pale despite his time in the sun, Dominic sat on the dock, smoking to ignore the battle beneath him in the early morning sunrise, wondering what Matt would think of it.

Last night had been a mess.

Matthew had wanted to go to Florida, to a fun city full of fun things in the night with fun people. Not this. Dom had insisted on getting a real feel for America, not just for the parties that you could find in almost any city. Dom wanted to feel close to the nature, the green marshlands a stark contrast to the grayness of the city. After some negotiating (according to Dom this was best done on your knees with a mouth full of cock), Matt thought it was a great idea.

So he was pulled to a rented house on the marsh that was so distinctly _Florida_ he probably could have found an alligator in the kitchen. To be fair, calling it a house was a bit of an overstatement. It was a dock with a shack haphazardly attached as almost as the architect remembered it was supposed to be a house just as the dock had been finished. The house had two rooms: a kitchen, and a bedroom. There was only a doorway separating the two rooms, the door seemingly forgotten as well. The outhouse was a couple yards outside the shack. The windows were simply holes covered in mosquito netting. But they didn’t mind, to Dom it wasn’t about luxury. He wanted to be away from the usual business of life. And something about the pristine filth of the marsh drew him in.

Dominic Howard wasn’t feeling himself lately. He felt like he was simply rushed from album to tour to album again. Matt had been merciless about nonstop work. Every minute spent off stage or outside the studio Matt was huddled up with a notebook or a piano, writing lyrics and melodies like a man possessed. Perhaps it was because he was afraid of Muse becoming old and irrelevant as the lines grew deeper and deeper on the singer’s face. It didn’t help that Dom was getting older too. He knew they’d gone hard for years like this before, but Dom felt like he was being stretched thin, as if he was losing control of his own life. He needed time to find his life again outside of work.

So they spent their days lazily existing in the middle of the marsh as Dom had his fun with nature. Sometimes Dom would pretend to know how to fish and cast out a couple lines only for them to be forgotten. Inevitably, Matt would come along and fiddle with the rods until they tangled. Other times Dom would simply opt for some sunbathing, only to be woken from his peaceful trance with an impatient manchild looming over him covered in mud.

“Stop that.” Dom would mumble.

“Stop what?” Matt would respond, in a rehearsed test of Dom’s patience.

“ _Looming_ .” Dom had already lost the test, his power to decide the day’s activities only lasting until Matt grew bored. “What do you want, anyhow?”

“I want to _do_ something.” Matt would look at him analytically, as if trying to find out how to annoy Dom into what he wanted the quickest. It was his own subconscious way of controlling Dominic.

“We are _doing_ something. And that something just so happens to be _nothing._ ” Dom would snap back. “It’s called relaxation, Matt.”

And so Matt would go sulking into the shack for all of ten minutes before hatching another plan to annoy Dominic, or that’s what it seemed like to Dom. At least Dominic was used to this, he could generally deal with an annoying Matt.

Last night was the exception.

After a particularly short round between them, Matt was already spent. Lately he’d beginning to become a two pump chump in the bedroom department, it was always over too quickly for Dominic. Matthew wouldn’t even let Dominic lead things anymore, as he grew anxious that the ordeal would take too long and delay Matt from getting back to work.

So Dom found himself once again on the dock. If there had been any neighbors, they would have likely assumed he lived on that dock.

He sat on the end and lit a cigarette to ease his mind. His feet kicked idly below him as he watched the hurried scurrying of the fiddler crabs.

 _Where are they going?_ Dom had thought. They seemed to have such determined purpose. Dominic envied that.

Too soon, he could hear Matt approaching him from behind. Dom didn’t turn around.

“Can you be quiet for a fucking minute?”

But Matt didn’t know how to be quiet. He kept on. “I know about the escorts. I know about what you did to them.”

Dominic heard his heart thump in his ears. “How long?” He asked with an emotionless voice.

“Long enough.” The thumping grew louder. “I’ve got to know, Dominic. I’ve got to fucking know why.”

“It was an accident.”

“Of course it was. It always is.” Matt was growing hysterical.

“Let me explain!” This was the only time Dominic had let himself raise his voice.

“And just how are you gonna explain this?”

Dominic didn’t know how. He thought about how he had fucked the first escort, going a bit too far with his power fantasy.

“I wanted control. You’re always the one in control.”

“Is that why you killed them? All seven of them?”

It was true. Dominic had gone too far the first time, feeling the power course through his body as he harshly choked the boy underneath him, going too far as he fucked the boy to his death. As he dealt with the body, Dominic had promised himself never again to indulge himself like that, but it was already an addiction for Dom. He would sneak away during Matt’s obsessive writing fits and fuck another boy to his death.

Dominic had found a purpose.

He stood up suddenly, back still facing Matthew. He knew what he was going to do.

Matt’s mistake had been placing his hand on Dom’s shoulder. Dominic, fueled by his newfound sense of purpose, grabbed Matt’s arm and threw him off the dock. He didn’t mean to harm him, he just wanted control over things, he just wanted Matt to leave him the fuck alone. Dominic heard the crack of a skull as Matt hit the edge of the dock. He was knocked out.

Matthew would have lived if he hadn’t been for the fucking mud. His unconscious body rolled limply into it. The dark mud covered his mouth and nose, staining his face black. Matthew had suffocated within minutes, and within the hour the merciless crows had come for him.

The sun was now shining brightly in the morning sky. The skies were clear, and the water was calm. Seemed like a perfect day to give fishing another shot, Dominic reasoned. A day without _any_ disturbances. He went into the shack to try to find a rod that wasn’t tangled irreversibly. The door slammed, and the half eaten face of Matthew Bellamy’s limp body lay abandoned by the crows in the dark, stinking mud. And the fiddler crabs kept their determined pace scuttling over the freshly dead flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this came from, but the idea is sort of inspired by a recent death I heard about. A man on a bicycle got hit by a car on the bridge, and he fell into the marsh. Because the crash and fall didn't kill him, he ended up suffocating in the mud before anyone could reach him.  
> Other than that, it doesn't have any deeper meaning than this just came out of nowhere in a writing fit last night.


End file.
